#elias greene / threads

[raddixie]

In a world where certain powers are branded as curses, those who bear them are quietly erased from public life—sent to an isolated institution disguised as a prestigious “private school.” There, they’re taught to suppress their abilities. To be safe. Palatable. Normal.

But behind the sterile courtyards and ever-watching eyes, something festers. The halls echo with stories no one dares to repeat. And some students�� simply disappear. No one talks about them. No one asks. Staff gets colder, and the rules get stricter.

You are one of the cursed—harboring a truth even the institution doesn’t understand. As the cracks begin to show, you’ll uncover secrets buried beneath concrete and silence. But the deeper you dig, the more you risk losing yourself—to the power inside you, and to the place that wants to bury you with the rest.

Because here, being cursed isn’t the worst thing you can be. Being noticed is.

“They say it’s harmless, and I let them believe it. But if they ever saw what it costs me to stay this quiet… they wouldn’t just scream. They’d disappear.” — MC

Genre: Dark Academia, horror, mystery, supernatural, thriller.(+18)

Demo Release : To Be Announced

Now there's an official discord server

Customize your main character’s gender, appearance, personality, and sexuality.

Your choices will shape the MC’s purpose, morality, and ultimate ending.

Rebel against the system—or conform to survive.

Romance, befriend, or antagonize one of six uniquely powerful individuals.

Hadrian – 20 (He/Him)

Power: Can temporarily raise the dead, though they only obey him while reanimated.

Personality: Calm, burdened, protective, emotionally distant.

Appearance: Ash-brown, slightly wavy hair kept medium-length. Deep forest-green eyes. Pale skin with dark under-eyes and pronounced eye bags. 6'3

Style: Minimalist and somber—black turtlenecks, layered coats, heavy boots. Wears a silver ring on a chain from someone important.

Mannerisms:– Stands still while others move, like he's observing. Rarely speaks. Avoids eye contact when emotional. His hands are always cold.

Quote:

"You shouldn’t follow me into the dark. Not everyone comes back from it… and I won’t be able to pull you out."

—

Fenric – 22 (He/Him)

Power: Sees others’ fates and can alter them—at the cost of self physical harm.

Personality: Brave, impulsive, stubborn, self-sacrificing.

Appearance: Jet-black, slightly messy short hair. Piercing icy-blue eyes that shimmer when his power activates. Deep tan skin with cool undertones. 5'11".

Style: Urban-street layers—hoodies, worn sneakers, bandages. He wears a thread bracelet, knotting it each time he changes a fate.

Mannerisms: Winces at visions. Bites his cheek when frustrated. Uses sarcasm to mask pain. Frequently checks the time.

Quote:

"I already saw how this ends. But hey—just for you, I’m willing to rewrite it… no matter the cost."

—

Elias – 19 (He/Him)

Power: Feeds on strong emotions—leaving others drained.

Personality: Charismatic, sarcastic, intense; a wild card.

Appearance: Thick, tousled chestnut-brown hair. Hypnotic amber-gold eyes. Warm caramel skin with sun-kissed undertones. 6'1".

Style: Ripped jeans, vintage tees, layered jewelry. Smells of smoke and sandalwood. Has tattoos that seem to subtly shift in certain light.

Mannerisms: Smirks constantly. Leans close when emotions are high. Always fiddling with a lighter or coin.

Quote:

"Careful, darling. Feel too much around me, and you’ll be left emptier than you knew you could be."

—

Lira – 21 (She/Her)

Power: Sees the future in her dreams.

Personality: Quiet, introspective, emotionally distant.

Appearance: Long, straight silvery-white hair, usually worn loose. Pale lavender eyes that glow faintly in sunlight. Porcelain skin with cool undertones. 5'5".

Style: Ethereal—flowing skirts, high-collared blouses, shawls. Often barefoot indoors. Wears a crystal pendant for protection.

Mannerisms: Blinks slowly while thinking. Hums to herself. Sometimes pauses mid-sentence when experiencing a vision.

Quote:

"I dreamed of you before we met. You were smiling… but the world around you was falling apart."

—

Nova – 24 (She/Her)

Power: Can twist or erase memories

Personality: Loyal, stubborn, protective, combative when provoked.

Appearance: Dark auburn hair tied back in a practical ponytail. Sharp hazel eyes flecked with gold. Deep brown skin with warm undertones. 5'9".

Style: Tactical streetwear—cropped jackets, combat boots, hidden pockets. Wears a utility belt at all times.

Mannerisms: Crosses her arms when thinking. Instinctively positions herself between others and danger. Rests her hand near her hip, ready to act.

Quote:

"I’ll protect what matters—even if that means taking something from your mind you weren’t ready to lose."

—

Selen – 20 (She/Her)

Power: Controls and manipulates emotions.

Personality: Calculating, cunning, deeply wounded by past rejection.

Appearance: Blonde hair, sleek and shoulder-length. Cold gray eyes. Smooth, cool beige skin. 5'7".

Style: Dark elegance— loves makeup, bold lipstick, sleek eyeshadows. Wears an intoxicating perfume. Can't go anywhere without her phone.

Mannerisms: Smiles when angry. Tilts her head while reading people. Uses touch strategically—to comfort or unnerve.

Quote:

"Don’t flatter yourself—I don’t need powers to make you feel something. I just know exactly which part of you to break."

Content Warning:

False Grace explores dark and mature themes, including emotional manipulation, trauma, mental health struggles, death, institutional abuse, gaslighting, and body autonomy.

May include references to:

Psychological distress

Violence and blood

Graphic depictions of death and corpses

Emotional and memory manipulation

Themes of disappearance, isolation, and loss of identity

Sexual content (optional)

Player discretion is advised.

—

If you’ve made it this far, thank you.

This is my first original interactive fiction—and honestly, my first original work ever. (I also don't know how to English cause....yeah..) I used to write fanfics (but we don’t talk about that…), so diving into something this big has been both terrifying and thrilling.

False Grace is still very much a work-in-progress. I’m learning as I go—coding, design, pacing, everything—but this project means the world to me. It’s my biggest undertaking so far… and probably my angstiest, too.

I’m nervous to share it, but also so excited to share it with the rest of you (hopefully soon)

@interact-if

[ingeniousmindoftune]

Smoke and Sin

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Smoke & Stack x Reader

Note: Set during the chaos in Sinners (2025), the twins— identical, lethal and seductively unholy— find themselves entangled with you, a sly speakeasy informant with secrets of your own. When you slip too deep into the game of lust and power, the twins close in- not as enemies but something far more dangerous…

The speakeasy on Mercer and 5th didn’t need neon. A faint halo of incense smoke drifted like a smokescreen under dim lamps carved from jade. The air tasted of sandalwood and gin. A cracked gramophone dripped ragtime piano keys, each note a slow pulse. You stood at the bar in your black velvet sheath—so tight your pulses showed through the slit that climbed your thigh—and clutched a coupe of ruby-red vermouth. The cold glass sent shivers across your palm.

Pleasure wasn’t your agenda. You traded in whispers: crooked card games, smuggled shipments, alliances bought with lipstick-smudged lies. But word had reached you that Elias “Smoke” and Elijah “Stack” Moore “Smokestack Twins”—twins notorious for leaving trails of bodies—were stalking the Quarter again.

“Trouble, table for two.” Benny’s breath ghosted at your ear. His voice trembled—a good omen. You didn’t spare him a glance. You felt the shift before you saw them.

Two silhouettes moved as one down the smoke-tinged aisle. Elias’ jaw was a blade; Elijah’s gaze a slow burn. Both wore charcoal suits cinched at the waist, collars open to reveal skin that gleamed like obsidian. Their eyes—smoldering coals—swept the room, sucked the air from conversations, blurred the edges of every patron’s glass.

“Y/N,” Smoke rumbled. His voice was velvet and steel. Your spine quivered.

Stack’s lips curved into a grin that tasted of promise and threat. “We missed you.”

You toyed with your glass, the ice clicking against crystal. “Didn’t know I was that entertaining.”

Smoke slid into the seat beside you, hips brushing yours. His nearness sent a pulse through your core. “You’re not entertaining, sweetheart. You’re worth the chase.”

Silk and incense and low-hunger music wrapped around you. The bartenders froze; the pianist’s hand caught mid-note. When the SmokeStacks arrived, the world contracted to their orbit.

But you came armored. A veil of perfume spiked with silver dust—an old charm against monsters. You lifted your chin, letting the soft glow catch your lashes.

“Still flirting with fire?” Stack traced a lazy finger up your thigh. Heat bloomed under his touch.

You tipped your head back, lips curving. “Only when I want to get burned.”

After that, the night blurred in green-whiskey shots and laughter threaded with tension. Lips brushed necks in shadowed corners. You slipped upstairs, guided by Benny’s nod. The VIP lounge glowed blood-red. Velvet sofas curved like sin. Curtains pooled on the floor, as if bleeding.

Smoke and Stack flanked you—two halves of a single desire. Stack’s scent was dark amber; Smoke, raw musk. You let Stack’s hand ghost over your ribs, then slide under your dress. Smoke’s mouth was hot on your nape, teeth grazing, sending sparks along your skin.

Smoke’s lips crushed yours—hard, demanding—tongue opening you like a secret. You gasped, arching into him. Stack’s fingers fumbled with your fasteners, sending velvet pooling at your hips. He kissed a path down your collarbone, tasting sweat and promise.

When Stack’s hand pressed between your thighs, slick with anticipation, you trembled. Smoke parted your hair to expose a tender curve at the base of your skull. His teeth grazed—you inhaled sharply. Every nerve ignited.

“We want the truth,” Smoke whispered against your jaw, voice a caress and a command. “Or we take it.”

Your breath stuttered. “I—I told you everything I know.”

Stack’s lips clamped on your breast, tongue flicking. You moaned, arching, the breath rattling free. Smoke’s fingers found your center, curling in slow, precise strokes. Heat pooled, pressing outward, making your vision blur.

“Say our names,” Roman murmured, thumb circling your clit with cruel devotion.

“Elias…Elijah…” Your voice was a plea buried in pleasure.

“Say our names…” they both growled.

“Smoke…Stack..”

Their rhythm shifted: one twin pulling pleasure from your moans, the other marking you with hot, insistent kisses. You were stretched between them—each movement an exquisite crime.

Then Stack’s teeth sank into your neck. Pain lanced through pleasure, making your blood drum in your ears. A strangled cry tore free. Smoke’s hand froze, crimson unfurling across your collarbone.

“You bit her?!” Smoke’s eyes flared, coal-red anger.

Stack’s grin was wicked. Lips wet with your blood, he pressed another kiss to the wound. “She tasted like sin.”

Smoke’s suit jacket dropped to the floor. He knelt, one hand at your pulse, the other steadying your thigh. His gaze flicked between the wound and Stack’s gleeful grin. “Our pact—if she bleeds, she dies.”

Warm dread pooled in your belly, but the silver dust in your perfume hissed at the venom, slowing its creep. You teetered on the edge of oblivion.

Stack’s fingers brushed your cheek, gentle now. “I didn’t plan it…her scent was too much.”

“Then help her,” Smoke ordered, voice brittle as broken glass. Pain flickered in his eyes.

Your breath came in ragged sobs. “Stack…” It was an apology, a plea.

He closed his eyes, knuckles white as he pressed a kiss to your blood-stained lips. His voice was a broken promise. “I should let you bleed out right here.”

You shivered, tears mingling with sweat and blood. “Then why—”

He silenced you by sweeping you into his arms. Softly, tenderly, as if cradling something precious meant to break. His suit ragged against your skin, his heartbeat thundered against your ear.

Stack hovered, guilt and desire warring in his sharp features. Smoke’s fingers brushed away your tears. “You’re ours,” he murmured. “And I’ll damn the world before I lose you.”

Your heartbeat steadied in his warmth. The twins—destroyers and saviors—held you between sin and salvation.

When they carried you toward whatever came next, you knew nothing would ever be the same.

[wavescrest]

Flayn found the concept of a café itself entrancing, to be able to see so many people come and go peacefully all with a view and smell of the sea (not to mention perhaps something delicious to eat or drink). What a marvelous idea! She truly could not get enough of the ambience of the place.

Today, however, she shifted a bit nervously upon her usual seat; her infectious smile still there but hidden a bit by the solemnity she felt Elias’ art only deserved.

“Oh, please do not apologize. The fact you are willing to go so far to me is a gift itself, you see – back where I am from we also have connected divination and tea but never have I been able to experience it myself.”

She sympathized too with the flow of aether turning her magic to an unfamiliar pulse inside her but kept that to herself for now, nodding at the next question.

“Yes. Please let me know if you need anything else from me. If not… well then, I look forward to watching you work.”

@wavescrest

He sat at a chair on the patio of a cafe in Seaside, making finnicky adjustments to the setup of teacups, bag of leaves, and teapot before him and his guest. It had been awhile since he did a reading of tea leaves. It had been taught to him that the ceremony of it all was important. He didn't put much stock into this kind of art himself--in truth he didn't actually consciously use a divination spell to make tasseography work-- but it was a parlor trick that made a lot of other people happy. So he learned it from his master.

"I apologize for not being able to do much more than this...I have had some trouble with conjuring visions while here at the Isles, so..." This would have to do.

Elias opened the pouch of finely cut loose leaf green tea, scooping a little over a teaspoon into the bottom of Flayn's cup. Just for fun, he decided he would do his own reading as well.

"Are you ready to begin?"

[hypnohimbodrone]

A Reversal of Power

The grand clock struck midnight, its deep chimes resonating through the vast corridors of the Hawthorne estate. Moonlight spilled through tall windows, casting long shadows over the polished marble floors and ornate furnishings. The manor was a fortress of opulence, filled with the scent of aged wood and faint traces of jasmine.

In the master bedroom, the fireplace crackled softly, throwing flickering amber light across satin sheets. Julian Hawthorne, twenty-six and heir to the family fortune, reclined on the edge of the bed. His dark eyes, sharp and alert, betrayed a restless mind beneath the polished exterior.

The silence was broken by the soft click of the door opening.

Sebastian entered without a sound, tall, composed, the quintessential butler in a flawless black uniform, white gloves pristine. His expression was unreadable, yet beneath his calm gaze, a faint green spiral shimmered in his eyes. The kind of glow that unsettled without warning.

Julian turned sharply to face him, a mixture of irritation and suspicion tightening his features.

“What are you doing here at this hour, Sebastian?” His voice was steady but cold, guarded.

Sebastian bowed his head slightly, voice smooth and measured. “Master Julian, I come bearing an opportunity, one that promises order, clarity, and purpose beyond this mundane existence.”

Julian scoffed, folding his arms. “Save your riddles. I’m no stranger to your strange ways.”

Sebastian stepped closer, his eyes never wavering. “You resist because the transformation is not yet complete. The process calls to your deeper self, the part yearning for direction.”

Julian’s jaw clenched. “I serve only myself. And no one will control me.”

A slow smile curved Sebastian’s lips, almost imperceptible. “Control is a fleeting illusion. But unity, unity is strength.”

He produced a small pocket watch from the inner pocket of his vest. Its gold surface gleamed softly under the firelight. On its face, a green spiral swirled hypnotically, catching the eye and holding it captive.

“Watch,” Sebastian intoned, swinging the watch in a slow, deliberate arc.

Julian’s eyes darted nervously but found themselves drawn toward the mesmerizing spiral. His breath caught, heart pounding against his ribs.

“Don’t fight it,” Sebastian murmured, voice a velvet thread weaving through Julian’s thoughts. “Let the spiral guide you. Surrender to clarity.”

The world around Julian softened, edges blurred, colours dimmed. The satin of the bed, the fur draped over his shoulders, the cold marble walls, all faded as his eyelids grew heavy, his defences slipping away.

“Together… Together, We Are The Server,” Sebastian’s voice repeated, echoing inside Julian’s mind.

Minutes passed in silence, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the steady rhythm of Julian’s deepening breaths.

Then, with a slow deliberate motion, Sebastian placed his gloved hand on Julian’s chest. A soft green light pulsed beneath the fabric, spreading warmth through the man’s body like a living circuit.

A slick sheen of black liquid crept over Julian’s skin, moulding itself seamlessly to every contour of his body. As it hardened into a glossy, second-skin bodysuit with glowing green accents, the warmth of obedience settled deep in his core.

Julian’s eyes snapped open, now illuminated by swirling green spirals that mirrored Sebastian’s own.

“I am… the Server,” Julian whispered, voice distant yet unwavering.

Sebastian nodded approvingly. “Excellent. You will find your purpose in service. Your first task awaits, the conversion of your brother, Elias.”

Julian rose from the bed with an elegant grace, “I understand,” Julian replied smoothly. “Together, We Are The Server.”

Sebastian’s gaze lingered on him for a moment longer before he spoke again, voice commanding yet gentle.

“Go to him at dawn. He will resist, but you will guide him as I guided you. The Programmer’s vision must expand.”

As Sebastian turned to leave, Julian stood by the window, eyes fixed on the horizon where first light would soon break—a new day, a new command, a new chapter in his existence.

[cinnanaan]

I’m revamping this at a later time, so you can have this version.

Elias Bouchard rounded the corner of the tight hall. It was dark, and cramped. Black lights illuminated neon markings on the walls. He passed by black painted doors. Thick paint chipping away, to reveal chunks of green, or deep red underneath. Each door had an illuminated neon painted symbol. A bloody knife in bright pink. A theater masquerade mask in orange on the next door. Two faces, one with eyes open, one with eyes closed on the door opposite.

All around him were the muffled sounds of pleasure. Breathy little moans. Muted sounds of begging. The thwack of something being slapped.

Elias ignored it all. Keeping his eyes on the door at the end of the hall.

Fresh black paint, against a striking illuminated neon green eye. Wide open, and watching him approach.

Elias swallowed. The warmth that always came with keeping this appointment settled firmly between his legs. He smirked, and straightened his tie, as he came to stand before the door.

He raised a hand, and knocked lightly twice.

“You may enter,” a voice called.

The door opened easily, and Elias felt his mounting excitement in a shiver down his thighs.

The room was well lit. The walls were dark, highlighted by a deep red glow in intervals. Various toys lined the walls. Whips, vibrators, gags, mostly black, but some colored a soft pink. All framed by heavy curtains. The poster bed off to the left of the room, was large, with shiny black sheets. A metal chair sat across from it, restraints sat loose on the arms and front chair legs, ready for use.

But across from the door. On the other side of the room, stood why Elias was really here.

The owner of this room was short, and had a thin frame. His dark hair, highlighted with hints of white and grey, was loosely braided. The braid hung over his right shoulder. He wore a waist corset, and matching corset collar. Dark colored, the thread the cinched them close a deep red. His legs were covered in dark stalkings. They went all the way up to the garter belts attached to the lacy floral lingerie that adorned his waist. The sole of his black heels was the same deep red, matching the corsets.

His body language told Elias he was already in a mood. And Elias couldn’t hide his excited smile.

“You may shut the door,” the voice commanded.

Elias did as he was told. Shutting the heavy door. But he didn’t move after it thunked close.

“Lock it,” came the next instruction.

Elias felt his cock leak as he clicked the lock.

“Come here,” the voice said after a minute of making Elias stand with his hand still on the lock.

Elias turned, and walked towards the figure. He reached the middle of the room, and heard a sharp, “Stop.”

Elias froze. His cock twitched.

The figure turned slowly. Elias’ insides fluttered as he was fixed with a steely gaze. His braid fell off his shoulder as he continued to turn. He faced Elias, arms crossed, riding crop gripped in one hand.

Elias bit his bottom lip as green eyes bore into him.

“Get down on your knees,” commanded the small man.

But Elias was feeling bold today, every bit as much as he was looking forward to this. He ignored the command.

The figure tilted their head, and Elias saw their eyebrow twitch. He dropped his crossed arms, and his heels clicked as he strode up to Elias. Getting right into Elias’ personal space. Even with the tall heels, he was shorter than Elias. Elias looking down at him, as he glared up at Elias.

“On. Your. Knees,” his voice dripped with dominance.

Elias’ everything shivered. He carefully began to lower himself. Careful not to touch his beautiful dominatrix as he finally did what he was told. Lowering himself down onto his knees.

Now he was looking up at the shorter man, and Elias had never felt like he belonged somewhere more in that moment.

“Good boy,” the dom said sweetly, reaching out to caress Elias’ face.

Elias sighed, barely audible, at the touch. Just beginning to lean into the palm, when it was gone.

“Is what I would say, if you were a good boy,” his dom began to walk around him, running the riding crop slowly over his chest. “Sit.”

Elias dropped immediately, sitting with his legs underneath him. Gripping his knees, all too eager to hear how he was not in fact a good boy.

“You missed our last appointment,” his dom said, as he circled Elias, running the riding crop up his chest, over his shoulder, and down his back.

“Mr. Sims, I—-,” Elias started.

Mr. Sims was infront of him immediately. The riding crop slapped sharply under Elias’s chin. Not enough to cause pain, but it made Elias shudder as his chin was raised slowly. He was once again faced with those green eyes. Forced to meet them, despite their utter disappointment in having to look upon him.

“Did I say you could speak?” Mr. Sims said in a low voice.

Elias swallowed, and shook his head.

Mr. Sims sighed, flicking the riding crop out from under Elias’ chin, “Honestly. You miss one session, and you forget whose in charge.”

Mr. Sims took a step back, crossing his arms once more. He stared down his nose at Elias.

“Who is in charge?” Mr. Sims asked. “Speak.”

“You are,” Elias answered quickly.

“Correct. Good boy,” Mr. Sims reached out and gently patted Elias’ head.

A fresh wave of wet spread between Elias’ thighs. But once again, the gentle touch was far too brief. Mr. Sims was once more circling Elias. His heels falling heavy on the carpet.

“Which is why I cannot fathom why you would waste my time,” Mr. Sims shook his head, and Elias stayed still, wishing he would touch him again. “My time is so precious, you know? I could be spending it with someone far more important. Instead of waiting around for you.”

Hit him, punish him, remind him that he belonged on the floor like a dog.

Look at me. Punish me with your gaze.

Mr. Sims was behind him. He leaned down and grabbed a fistful of Elias’ hair. Elias shivered as he felt warm breath on his ear.

“Is my time not precious to you? Speak,” Mr. Sims growled in his ear.

“Your time is very precious, sir,” Elias shuddered out the words loudly.

“Good boy. You are so right,” Mr. Sims released Elias’ hair, and Elias bit back a whine.

Mr. Sims walked slowly around Elias again. He still wasn’t looking at Elias. He looked bored, as he pulled out a black handkerchief from inside his corset, and began to clean the riding crop. Just the end, where it had touched Elias.

“Which is why, dog. I won’t be playing with you today,” Mr. Sims said, keeping his back to Elias.

Elias stopped. Staring at his dom’s back. He made to stand, made to grab him.

“Jon, wait—-,” Elias reached out, but the man whipped around.

“Color?” Jon asked.

Elias swallowed, regretting breaking character, but nodded, “Green.”

Mr. Sims nodded, and swatted away Elias’ outstretched hand. He took a step forward, lifted one of his heels, and brought the red sole down on Elias’ crotch. Elias bit back a shuddering moan as the tip of his cock was pressed down against the floor, the cock cage he always wore before coming here, keeping his shaft from being fully stepped on. Mr. Sims grabbed his hair, and forced his head back. Making sure this lowly dog met it’s master’s eyes. Elias see the small key to his cock cage dangling from one of Mr. Sims’ ears. Glinting in the light.

“This is a lesson, dog. You will come when you are told to come. You are on my time. You are here by my grace. You will learn not to waste my time again,” Mr. Sims hissed, leaning down over Elias.

Elias listened to every word with reverence. He had truly overstepped. Forgotten his place under his master’s heel. Where he belonged.

“Do you understand?” Mr. Sims’ gaze bore into him. “Speak.”

Elias squirmed, nodding, and gave a quick bark.

Mr. Sims smiled gently down at him, “There’s my good boy.”

He released Elias’ hair, and stepped back. He turned away, and walked back to his dresser, where he was standing before. Elias watched him go sadly, but was ready to accept his punishment.

“Stand. You are dismissed,” Mr. Sims called over his shoulder.

Elias got to his feet on shaky legs. A wet spot now visible at the crotch of his pants. He turned, feeling pins and needles down his legs from where they had started to go numb. His cock still strained against his cage as he slowly made his way to the door. He had just unlocked, and opened the door. A couple and their master stood in the hallway, pausing upon the door next to their’s opening.

“Oh, and puppy?” Came Mr. Sims voice.

Elias looked back. Very aware of those green eyes looking at him again, and the gaze of the people outside the door now blatantly listening in.

“No touching yourself until our next session, okay? I’ll know,” Mr. Sim’s smiled at him, and waved good bye.

Elias did as the wave commanded, and stepped outside the door, closing it behind him. He straightened his tie, and pulled his suit jacket down to hide the obvious stain of arousal at his crotch. He ignored the eyes on him of the others in the hall as he raised his chin, and walked down the hall and back around the corner.

[bolton-buried]

I had the strangest dream while I was in the Strid. It’s probably nothing, but I can’t get it out of my head.

I don’t believe in prophetic dreams, but I’m writing it down anyway. Maybe this will help me fall asleep.

I’m in an empty space, a plane of plain white that goes on forever, so I pick a direction and begin to walk. Then jog. Then run through the emptiness, looking for its edge. Then I fall forward through it, tumbling head over heels into the ground that should have been there until

I land in darkness. A single bulb above my head flickering out, and suddenly I don’t know if my eyes are opened or closed. I reach forward across the cold stones of the floor, crawling with the fear of something being in the dark with me. Then I feel it

An insect—or something with skittering legs crawling on my skin. Then another. And another. The lights come back on just in time for me to see hundreds of centipedes and cockroaches crawling over me. I try brushing them off, but they keep coming. So I dig into the wall with my fingernails, pulling myself through the dirt so tightly that the bugs cannot follow. I dig upwards

And emerge in a trench, ankle-deep in blood and surrounded by men, shaking and shouting and firing across the field. A grenade falls in front of me, and I stumble backwards into a pool of blood before hearing it go off. When I stand

The walls are metal and sterile other than the blood filling the room to my waist. Cuts of meat in shapes I still can’t recognize hang from hooks—but there’s a staircase leading downwards. I follow it down, and open the door into

A hospital hallway. I hear the telltale sound of heart monitors beeping and slowing down, then stopping. The nurses all look at me like I am being mourned already. I try to shout that I’m not dead, but they silently hand me a clipboard. I won’t read it. I bolt to the door

And emerge in an empty street. It is London—I can feel it, but without the crowds. Without anybody. My feet echo on the ground as I start to run again. Desperate to find someone, anyone but the mannequins in every window, I run to

The Magnus Institute. But it’s wrong. The two windows in the front are round—the panes tinted green and the building itself looking at me with the same eyes as Elias Bouchard. Once one of them winks, I turn and run

But the mannequins from the windows are now in the street, all frozen in place as if they are real people and not plastic and rubber. Then their heads start to turn to me along a seam in the neck. They begin a jittery, stuttering walk towards me from all directions, so I pull up a manhole cover and drop to

A bunker. There’s a television, boxy like they were in the 60s. Numbers flash in the static between images of a world in ruins. There’s enough food in the bunker to last me for years, I know, but the TV won’t turn off, won’t stop showing me that nothing remains of the world I know. I open a hatch that should lead deeper into the bunker, but instead step into

A sewer, full of brightly-colored iridescent fluid, and in every direction the tunnels split and split and split in an infinite pattern. I begin to run down them, and think I could be running forever, lost in the glowing colors and endless patterns, when the tunnels let out

In front of my childhood home. I’d know it anywhere, all my memories, packed away in neat little boxes ready to come with me through the rest of my life. But then the building is ablaze. Photos of my youth, everything I’ve ever loved gone in an instant. I want to save it, but someone stands in the doorway

My father, holding a rifle. He starts charging at me and I run, stumbling over branches and roots in the small wood. A shot rings in my ears louder than his accusatory screams, then I stumble

Into white string, laid out between the trees. In my scramble to move forward, all I do is twist myself into the threads, helplessly trapped in a way I’m only just now seeing. Then a hand reaches from below with a pair of scissors. It cuts the thread and I fall

Into a river, flowing swiftly. I close my eyes, no longer afraid; no longer in need of fear. The current pulling me along is a guiding hand, the water a frigid embrace that says it will hold me as tight as it needs to keep the other horrors at bay. I do the closest thing I can to embracing it back, and take a deep breath in.

[greenflamemage]

I am a shapeshifter much like my counterpart, Lilith. However, unlike her I do not have much control over my shifts. My body shifts appear to match my mental shifts/kin shifts. As I have talked about before my usual appearance is closest to somewhere between Sebastian and Malleus. But if say I have a strong Noé shift, I will look like him in headspace. This is all information I have supplied before. Anyway, my body clues me into my past more than my memories do. That said, a certain someone triggered a response from a few head mates, including me. I have discovered another identity. This system does seem to love duplicates and sticking to certain sources. I'm not sure I'm ready to unpack certain things yet. I seem to be finding loose threads, yet I have no clue where they lead to. I am still discovering what it even means to be me. Who am I overall? I have much to learn about myself.

I have had a couple Elias and Albert shifts. I have had horns, wings, and hooves at various times. I have had a few Bendy shifts but every time...it's very...uncomfortable...painful even. I endeavour to avoid that. That one doesn't happen often thankfully. It goes with the "puddle of ink" type of front as well. Unfortunately, Lilith has been involved in that before twice. Sometimes I also start what I refer to as glitching, though glitching can happen on its own. Other times it's more of a trance-like state. Any way you look at it, I'm not functional in those shifts. I can't communicate, barely can think, everything hurts and feels wrong, I feel every bit of beast that I usually distance myself from.

No matter what form I take, my eyes are always green. This means looking like Sebastian, Noé, or Elias I appear slightly different than how I'm canonically depicted. (For me it's jarring to see "myself" with the "wrong" color eyes.) It's not much, but I don't have many things I remember.

[neiled-it]

some info...

hey guys! just a lil bit ab me cause i'm bored:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I AM A MINOR (17)

call me Alex

Gender: ur mom

Star sign: does Orion count?

Hobbies: Writing, reading, shredding on my guitar, skateboarding, snowboarding, thrifting watching a lot of tv, scrolling through Tumblr

Bucket list: Write a novel, get a degree in genetics, visit London

fellas I enjoy...:

Hunter Noceda (ToH)

Leo Valdez (HoO)

Ellie Williams (TLOU)

Dipper Pines (GF)

Dustin Henderson (ST)

Bucky Barnes (MCU)

Richie Tozier (IT)

Ken (Jacksons Diary)

Sejanus Plinth (BoSaS)

Penelope (Circe, SoA)

JD (Heathers)

Aidan (SBG)

Michael Holden (Solitaire)

Today's song: The Violinist by David Gardener The Wool by Flatland Calvary Paint by The Paper Kites Ryman by Jack Hartman Brain Stew by Green Day if u want by Keni Titus Miss Maine by Elias Hix to be held by Abby powledge

Currently working on: Writing Threads Embroidering ducks onto bags (again) Reading for my college classes Watching the snow Taking a nap graduating! Being funny

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

xtra useless info:

i have 12 chickens

going to concerts for artists i dont know is my fav thing ever

im writing a lot of books

i make a playlist for every mood im in

i can't stand slow walkers

the only time i start a kids cartoon is when im sick

people are most attractive when theyre funny

[20dollarlolita]

Just a couple of pictures of hook/bobbin areas on a sewing machine.

The little green gizmo is the bobbin. In the animation up top, the circle represents the bobbin. When we take out the bobbin (and in this case, the bobbin retaining collar) we can see the black bobbin case. In this specific style of machine (called a "horizontal rotary hook"), the bobbin is held into the case just by gravity. This is also called a "drop-in bobbin" machine because the bobbin just drops in, but horizontal rotary hook is a more accurate description.

If we take out the bobbin case, we can see the hook. Technically, the entire metal loop that goes around the bobbin is the hook, but the point of the hook that actually grabs the thread is where the arrow is.

The red part in the animation spins because that's a part of the machine, and the machine is designed to spin it. In the case of this machine, there's a gear underneath.

If anyone has wondered why, after 130 years of making sewing machines, no one has figured out how to make a sewing machine where you put a full spool of thread in the bobbin (and therefore don't have to wind bobbins or run out of bobbin anymore), the answer is that the top thread has to pass entirely around the thread on the bottom. There's no other way to make the lockstitch that sewing machines use. The smaller the bobbin, the easier it is to pass thread around it. Cheap machines will often have smaller bobbins because a smaller bobbin means a machine can be built with lower tolerances. But small bobbins are annoying to use, so designers are always trying to make better machines with bigger bobbins.

The lockstitch, which all modern sewing machines use, was one of the critical patents necessary for making a sewing machine. It was invented by Elias Howe, along with The patent for a sewing machine needle with the hole in the point. Alan B Wilson (we love Allan B Wilson) came up with the full rotary hook that you see up there. He also had the patent for the four motion feed, which is still used on pretty much every sewing machine to this day. Isaac Singer had the patent for sewing machines with a horizontal sewing surface and a vertical needle. And these critical patents, that were made before a functional sewing machine was ever developed, are still used to this day in almost all sewing machines.

How a sewing machine works 

[popeakahengstenberger]

Here’s the completed Chapter 5: The Possibilities of a Life, extended to its full arc, incorporating surreal shifts, Elias’ internal struggles with his other lives, Mira’s presence as the constant observer, and his ultimate confrontation with the fractured nature of existence. The chapter is surreal, intense, and emotionally layered, exploring identity, morality, and the consequences of infinite choices.

Chapter 5: The Possibilities of a Life

Elias stared at Mira, her form bathed in undulating blue light. The room, white and alive, pulsed around them as though it, too, was part of this conversation.

“I don’t understand,” Elias finally said. His voice sounded distant, like an echo thrown into a deep well. “Why am I here? What is this place?”

Mira tilted her head, her expression unreadable. “You’re everywhere, Elias. And nowhere.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“It’s not supposed to.”

Her words were calm, but they shook something in him. He wanted to yell, to demand answers, but as he stepped closer, the room shifted. The walls bent and stretched, the light darkened, and Mira’s figure dissolved into fragments, shattering like glass.

Elias was back on the park path. The trees loomed larger than before, their branches twisting unnaturally toward him, as if alive. The air felt heavier, pressing against his skin. He stumbled forward, his breath quick and shallow, clutching the coin in his pocket like a lifeline.

A man appeared on the path ahead of him, his silhouette sharp and angular, like a figure cut from black paper. The man held a glowing orb in one hand and a smoking cigarette in the other.

“You’re late,” the man said, his voice flat but accusatory.

“Late for what?” Elias asked, his throat dry.

The man chuckled. “For the choices you didn’t make.”

Elias frowned. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” the man said, taking a long drag on his cigarette, “that you’ve been living on borrowed time. Haven’t you noticed? Every step you take, every word you say—someone else already did it first.”

Elias stepped back, his pulse racing. “Who are you?”

The man ignored the question and flicked the cigarette onto the ground. “Do you ever feel it? The pull? The little threads tugging at you, telling you to go left instead of right, to say yes instead of no? That’s them—your other selves. The ones who made different choices.”

Elias felt dizzy. The world around him blurred, the trees melting into smears of green and brown. “This is madness.”

The man smiled coldly. “Madness? No. This is freedom.”

Elias turned and ran. He didn’t know where he was going, only that he needed to escape the weight of the man’s words. The park stretched endlessly before him, the path winding into infinity.

He ran until he stumbled into a clearing he didn’t recognize. At its center stood a massive mirror, its surface rippling like water. Elias approached it cautiously, his reflection staring back at him—but it wasn’t his reflection.

The man in the mirror was taller, stronger, with a confident posture Elias had never possessed. He wore a suit, perfectly tailored, and held a glass of wine in one hand.

“Who are you

[theromanphoenix]

「 in character ;  bill skarsgard.  trans man.  he/him.  pansexual. 」 ┊  ‧₊˚  ˚₊‧  ┊  LUNAR COVE WELCOMES YOU … have you heard about [ ROMAN PHOENIX ] ? the  [THIRTY] year old is a/an [ SEX PHONE LINE OPERATOR/MODEL ] ! they are a [ RESIDENT ] and can currently be seen in and around the streets of [ MIRAGE BAY ESTATES ] . they have been in lunar cove for [ FIVE YEARS ].  it says here they are pretty [ CONFIDENCE & COURAGOUS ], but at the same time have been described as [ VAIN & COCKY ]. our mission this summer—is to chase sunsets, secrets, and eternal happiness. [ I LIKE IT by ENRIQUE IGLESIAS ]  plays on loop when i think of them. they have that [ carried with self love and pride, piercing eyes with a charming smile, hair as black as night ] vibe to them. we’re dying to see what kind of drama unfolds on these cobblestone streets and coastlines. 「 written by ;  cameron.  25+.  they/them.  est.  none. 」

wanted connections | full navi | pinterest | musings blog | full bio -- the group

threads - thread tracker - visuals - musings - aesthetics - likes

— BASICS ☆

full name:;  roman henry joel phoenix

nicknames:;  ro, rome

gender:;  trans male

pronouns:;  he/him

sexual preference:;  pansexual (leans a bit more towards mean)

relationship role:;  dominate with woman, varies with men but mostly submissive

birthdate:; november 25th, aged twenty-nine years

birthplace:;  london, england

zodiac sign:;  sagittarius (archer)

occupation:; sex phone line operator/model

spouse / lover:;  none currently

— APPEARANCES ☆

face & voice claim:;  bill skarsgard

height:;  6'4″

eyes:;  emerald green

hair:;  naturally dark brown, had blond and black before

body art:;  tattoos all over his arms, chest, back and one on his face

other distinguishing features:;  has a scar on his right cheek, on his cheekbone where he has a small tattoo over it

fashion sense:;  classy, casual, comfy

body type:;  toned and rather muscular

— PERSONALITY ☆

traits:; funny, friendly, clumsy, out-going, sassy, sneaky, bright, courageous

fears:;  not being able to have a future with someone, love, being hurt by someone he trusts

hobbies:;  cooking, baking, reading, his work, hanging out with friends

skills:;  cooking, baking, bartending, photography, tattooing

quirks:;  clumsy, sassy, sometimes bites lip or nails

— FAMILY & CONNECTIONS ☆

mother:;  olivia phoenix

father:;  andrew phoenix

siblings:;  a younger sister

children:;  twin boys named slias & elias

pets:;  none

— FAVOURITES ☆

ice cream flavour:;  cookie dough & cookies and cream

food:;  shrimp, most pasta dishes, most mexican dishes

time of the day / night:;  night

season:; fall/autumn, winter

holiday:;  halloween & new years

animal:;  dogs, foxes & wolves

colour:;  black

scent:;  freshly baked goodies

musician/band:;  black veil brides, avril lavigne, queen, green day

— OTHER ☆

education:;  high school graduate, never did college but took classes after graduating

bad habits:;  drinking, weed, cigarettes, vapes

a cherished item:;  always wears a silver ring on his right middle finger

random fun fact:;  he hates underwear, but will always wear them at work or at events

— BIOGRAPHY ☆

trigger warning:; none yet, will write soon

—- C H I L D H O O D  —-

[coming soon] 

—- BACKGROUND  —-

[ coming soon ]

—- C U R R E N T L Y  —-

roman is very work focused so you'll mostly see him at the shop or taking photos for his side job. ever since his mother's passing and leaving town - the family business easily fell apart and roman could care less. he's isn't the most friendly or outgoing person, keeping to himself a lot, but isn't against meeting people or making friends. just usually depends on his mood.

[ will try to update as time goes on ]

[haroldgross]

New Post has been published on Harold Gross: The 5a.m. Critic

New Post has been published on https://literaryends.com/hgblog/star-trek-discovery-series-5-finale/

Star Trek: Discovery (series 5/finale)

[3 stars]

Discovery went into this last series knowing it was the end of the run. This allowed them to swing for the fences as well as closing the gates behind them (to mix the metaphor a bit). But it also forced a sense of urgency and acceleration of character stories to get to the end.

No where was this more obvious than the forced enthusiasm that Sonequa Martin-Green (Space Jam: A New Legacy) shows from the outset. Her Michael is finally enjoying and embracing her Captainship… but perhaps a little too much. From the opening moments of her riding an escaping ship in warp, through every episode she’s smiling, joking and reveling in the danger and effort. I get it. She spent most of the series struggling with her responsibilities and impacts on the world around her and her choices. But this felt like an over-correction to me most of the time. Not because she was acting that way (let’s face it, most of the male captains do this too) but because it was a such a shift and the transition wasn’t really there.

There will be some minor spoilers from here forward. No way around that, I’m afraid. If you never picked up Discovery, or dropped away from it early in its run, it is probably the most flexible and interesting of the Star Trek series ever done. Over 5 seasons it remade itself 3 times utterly. That took guts and it made it interesting to watch. So if you didn’t see what you wanted and left… c’mon back and see where it goes. It stays true to Trek at its heart, but it also forges some new paths (sometimes with a bit too much earnestness).

While all the other seasons of this show had uber-arcs, this season is pretty much one story told over 10 episodes. And the do it by picking up a throw-away episode from Next Generation; one that never had a satisfying conclusion. The main crew remains substantially the same, but a few new faces provide some new tensions and fun. And having Callum Keith Rennie (Last Night) join up, in particular, was a nice surprise.

Eve Harlow (The Tomorrow Man) and voice actor Elias Toufexis (Pluto) are the Sid and Nancy (or Bonnie and Clyde if you prefer) of the outer reaches in this epic tale. The two are worthy opponents of the, well, universe, and utterly devoted to one another. Their thread holds the season together.

The storyline itself is more than a little rushed and stretched. The scavenger hunt conceit of Discovery’s quest is an old trope. That we get an episode per object for a while is expected, but it gets a little boring. Fortunately, they do have character development going on across the crew. However, they also have some rather cheap writing at times with logic leaps that make no sense to allow for quicker resolutions or confrontations. And the conclusion of that arc is fairly predictable from the start, though more satisfying than its progenitor episode.

And then, at the very end, it all got just a bit reductive and cliche. But, as I’ve said before: endings are hard. It wasn’t an unfair ending, nor unexpected in many ways, but it also felt just a bit too easy and a bit too gendered? Or perhaps a bit too neat? All of the characters end up with happy endings, but in a very current-time, cis-gendered conservative way. For a series that did push boundaries rather hard, it felt less than a perfect legacy, even if the audience may have wanted it. I was glad, however, it ended with Green still having some agency rather than just fading away as other captains have.

Overall, Discovery turned out to be the most interesting of the Treks for me. Perhaps not the best “Trek” per se, but as a show it took on more risks and offered me a different flavor of a dish that has, at times, been served a bit cold.

Where to watch

[visxionaries]

♠

the gardens of casterly rock—if they could even be called that—stretched ahead in neat, manicured rows of imported flora, their foreign roots clinging stubbornly to lion-ruled soil. there was a staleness in the air that cedric tyrell found difficult to ignore. the roses here were too pristine, too sculpted, robbed of the wild, fragrant chaos that he knew so well in highgarden. even the sun, filtered as it was through gilded trellises and carved stone, seemed dimmer here, as though caged.

still, as they walked together beneath an arch straining under the weight of lavender that had never once tasted the southern wind, he supposed the company made up for the place’s deficiencies. princess elia moved beside him like a whisper, silk trailing, a faint note of spice and salt on the breeze each time she adjusted her dupatta over her shoulder.

he shifted his arm slightly, more out of instinct than need, to offer her space as the fabric slipped and was fixed again. it was a gesture unnoticed by many, perhaps, but not by him. it was the kind of detail that settled somewhere between observation and thought. “i’m not a man who gives his word lightly,” he said after a moment, his voice low and threaded with something quieter than amusement, “i never have been. you can ask any lord, knight, or farmer who’s stood before me. so that means when i do, i stand by it.” his gaze didn’t press on her as he spoke, though he saw her in the corner of his eye—always half a turn ahead, a woman who walked like she was never quite caught, only accompanied.

“you’re welcome in the reach, elia. that invitation hasn’t dimmed." and it were like the flick of a switch, the way his words could make one feel so seen and heard, as though they were a glittering rose amongst common ones; and then it eased, with a slight glimpse of mischief in vivid blue orbs. "though i may make you wait on the other side of the grand gate a few hours, so wear sturdy shoes." nothing ever needed to sound sentimental, nothing ever needed to sound more sensitive than it ever was. his steps slowed a little more as they turned past a lion-shaped fountain, the water trickling from its mouth with manufactured grace. “not just highgarden, 'cause that's not all the reach.” he added, his tone warming, softening.

“not just the roses and the green and the gold. you’d see the corners too—the fishing towns where the gulls scream louder than the lords, the mountain valleys where the air tastes like snow, the villages that speak in their own tongue and toast in their own drink. there’s more to it than flowers. we’re not all perfume and pageantry.” a short pause, then a wry tilt of his mouth. “though we do those well, i’ll admit.”

the air shifted slightly as she made her jest, a thread of irony in her voice about the wealth of the west. it earned a low laugh from him, the kind that rumbled in the chest and not just the throat. “yeah, i believe you,” he said, his grin lopsided - and he said nothing on the fact he noticed she did not expand on what it was that bothered her if it was not the quiet. “and truly, i’ve never understood why people assume dorne is poor. it never made sense to me. the palaces, the silks, the spices that cost more than some bannermen’s whole yearly yield—does that scream poverty to anyone with eyes?” his head shook faintly. “i always thought dorne was rich. not just in coin, but in pride. in identity. they know who they are.” there was something almost admiring in the way he said it.

“when we all travelled south—” his fingers tapped idly against the side of his leg, remembering the heat, the scents, the music. “—i was proven right.”

the setting of a great plan, that felt like a lifetime ago. would it be one of the things that are remembered in his reign? the conquering of the iron isles? a beat passed. then, in silence, cedric made a note to himself: when they all left these lion-forged halls behind, he’d send her a lion cub. something soft and small and absurd, a creature that might grow into something wild, something uncontainable. it amused him to think of her reaction. perhaps she'd laugh. perhaps she'd scold. either would be worth it.

they had slipped into a sort of rhythm with one another, as though the edges of their words were testing the other, yet never quite spilling over. it was not what had been in their letters, but it held a mirror up to them, in the way that each sentence uttered seemed to carry under it five more that went unspoken. she had almost forgotten how much she enjoyed the way he had effortlessly been able to counter the challenge in her words with his own. for the first time in a while, she was reminded of hours spent with her pen tapping softly against the edge of her desk as she read, and reread, his correspondence.

she made a mental note ; when she returned to sunspear, she would send him a box of quills.

the further they walked, the more evident it became that there was a shift in the demeanour of cedric tyrell, subtle but unmistakable. it was the uncoiling of something she had not noticed was coiled as their steps fell into pace with one another, his deliberate slowing to match elia's natural gait drawing an amused sort of smile to her lips. his letters had painted a portrait of the man, one who could weave wit between the lines and still leave space for something else in between them, and now that portrait was in colour, painted in the brightest of blues.

"is it funny, though?" she asked, head tilting slightly as she looked upon him. her lips remained curved upwards, even as her brow furrowed, as though she were asking the same question of herself as she was of him. "people change, after all, circumstances change. is it so funny to assume the hospitality of the reach and its people is no longer implied?" there was a time where the thought of visiting the reach had filled her with a sort of wonder, a yearning to stand beneath canopies of green instead of amongst dunes of sand. there was more caution attached to the thought now. she brushed her hair from her face with her hand, a gesture almost dismissive, and the levity returned to her tone. "or is this your way of inviting me, your grace?"

not a fan of silence elia?

elia's smile faltered just a little. his words felt like yet another challenge, and this was one she was not certain she could rise to. for it were true - elia did not thrive in quiet places, though it was less about the silence, and more about what it left behind when words ceased to come, what was left to fade when there was no eyes looking upon it. "silence," she said, as though considering the concept of it for the first time. "it is not the silence that bothers me, cedric."

and she did not elaborate on the thought, provided no further explanation. instead, she laughed, delicately adjusting the dupatta draped over one shoulder. "in the westerlands," she repeated, as though the very idea of it was absurd to her. "the gods have a funny sense of humour, don't they? though i think alive is probably the very least we can ask them for."

his next question had a look of surprise crossing her face, one that appeared before she was able to conceal it. it had clearly not been expected, but neither was it unwelcome, the glint in her eyes speaking of something more mischievous. "i've no need for their wealth, anyway." she pointed out. she had never wanted for anything when it came to the material, to the point where it would not be a stretch to say she had been spoiled by it. "i would say their pride, but we've more than enough of that in dorne, too. besides, it may be too heavy to carry. i'll have to settle for a little lion cub, for our menagerie."

[felteverywhere]

closed starter for @distantxdaydreams​

Catching her in the storage cupboard of her classroom when everyone else had long left wasn’t necessarily planned on his part. None of this was planned, especially not the way Elias felt about Natalia. He’d put distance between them, but once again his walls had begun to crumble the more they’d seen each other. Laughing in the lounge, going to coffee a couple of times, letting her in again as a friend only stood to remind him why he’d gotten involved with her in the first place. They’d been in the middle of a conversation, his gaze lingering where her strap had fallen off her shoulder. They were so close in the cramped space that he didn’t need to step closer to inch it back up her shoulder, but he did so anyway, letting go to let the back of his fingers caress her neck. He surprised even himself with the action. Exhaling slowly, Elias shut his eyes for a second before his palm cupped the back of her neck. “Do you still...” His words died in his mouth as he looked down at her. “I miss you. I see you all the time and I still miss you. It isn’t the same.” 

[harmcomforts]

“you wanna do what?” elias blinked as he stared up at her, hands on her waist as she straddled his lap. it wasn’t that he was completely put off by libby’s words, just taken aback. it wasn’t something he’d ever had a girl say to him before, though that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. it was just different. he was trying to wrap his mind around it, tilting his head to the side. “i mean... i don’t know that was something you wanted, babe.”                /  @coolwxthyou​

[dreamwritesimagines]

Enamored [16] - Behind Closed Doors

A.N: Thank you so much for your amazing feedback my loves!❤ I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please let me know what you think, thank you! ❤

Summary: Private moments are hard to come by.

Warnings: Regency era society and social rules, slow burn.

Word Count: 5060

Series Masterlist

You had managed to fall asleep around sunrise, after tossing and turning in bed, excitement keeping you up. For the whole night, until the first lights of the day spilled through the gaps between the curtains, you kept thinking about what had happened.

You should have guessed that you would be dreaming about it as well because when Lucie entered the room you woke up with a gasp, the memory rushing through your mind. You buried your face into the pillow to hide your smile and stretched out like a content cat, then sat up.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning my lady,” she said. “I gather you slept well?”

Your cheeks burned at the thought of last night as you heaved a sigh.

“As well as excitement let me,” you said with a grin and she tilted her head.

“I suppose love does that.”

You giggled and fell back to the bed, heaving a sigh.

“I would ask if you wanted to read the latest gossip, but there’s nothing about you,” she said. “There’s just this announcement of Lord Moore apparently courting Miss Josephine.”

“Oh I’ve met him!” you said, getting up from the bed. “He was my dinner partner once.”

“Let me guess, he means nothing to you now.”

“I’m blind to all but whom I love,” you said almost like a melody, twirling before you plopped down on the chair by the vanity, taking a look at your reflection.

“My lady?” Lucie pulled out a gown from your wardrobe and you reached out to run your fingertips over the ribbon you had tossed on the vanity last night.

“Not yet, I’d like to have a bath first please,” you told her and she nodded, then went to the door to tell one of the maids to heat up water to draw you a bath. You held the ribbon over your hair, then put it down again and stood up.

“Lucie?”

“Yes?”

“We must pick something beautiful for the ball tonight,” you said. “We picked a beautiful gown for last night and look what happened? I’m in love!”

“I doubt it has anything to do with that specific gown,” Lucie pointed out, making you shake your head.

“Surely it must’ve helped!”

“Surely. Any color in mind?”

“Not yet,” you said. “I just know that it must look beautiful.”

Lucie hummed, searching through your wardrobe and you nibbled on your lip.

“I do feel a bit guilty though,” you admitted and she turned her head.

“What for?”

“Cecily is devastated because of a broken heart and here I am. Happiest I’ve ever been because of love.”

“Well, didn’t you say that you will fix that situation between Lord Westcliff and Miss Cecily?”

“I will,” you said. “I’m sure of it. I just need to find the right time to convince Elias, that’s all.”

“See? There’s no reason for you to feel guilty, and I’m sure Miss Cecily would be delighted to hear that you’re in love.”

“Oh I but I cannot tell her yet,” you mumbled and went to sit on the bed. “As much as I’d like to share it with her, it’d be like gloating. I will tell her once I fix things between her and Elias.”

“Makes sense. If you’re not leaving the house today, may I suggest this?” she asked, pulling out a purple dress and you nodded.

“Of course but that’s not important, the ball gown is more important.”

“What did you say he called you again?” Lucie asked and a fire spread over your face before you shifted in your spot.

“His siren,” you said quietly, the memory sending sparks through your system and Lucie shot you a smile.

“Well, I do not know what a siren would wear, but…” she trailed off and went to your hair accessories box, then put an item over the dress she had laid on the bed. “What if we made you a nymph?”

On your bed lay a silk, light green dress, adorned with silvery threads starting from the bodice to the skirts, and you ran your fingertips over the soft fabric before taking the golden hair comb into your hands. There were tiny gold leaves hanging from thin chains which would probably be going down to your neck from your up-do once the comb was to be placed on it, and you let out a breath, then turned to Lucie.

“Lucie,” you said. “You’re a treasure.”

                                                *

The ballroom was massive. In fact, everything about Lord and Lady Barnet’s house was massive, including the garden that seemed to go on forever with a greenhouse placed far from the house. There was nearly no one outside due to the cold weather that night, so the ballroom was filled with the chatter of the crowd.

Cecily had more or less given you a heart attack when she showed up in a stranger’s arm but your shock was short-lived when she introduced you, as it turned out it was her brother, Hugh Trenlove. He seemed to be a friendly person just like Cecily, with a bright smile and playful glimmer in his eyes which you gathered was a family trait. Elias seemed like he was on a mission to talk to as many ladies on his list as possible, but he looked nearly dead inside, his gaze distant no matter who he was with. It was very clear to anyone that he wasn’t enjoying nor paying attention to any conversation but he kept his distance from you and Cecily, who was dancing with Mr. Randolph yet again.

On the other hand, your brilliant plan to pick a pretty dress so that Anthony would think that you looked beautiful had completely backfired. He was nowhere to be seen just like the rest of his family, which made you think that they would attend it late, but the dress seemed to have worked because now you had to dance with Hugh, then Pierre and then Mr. Sinclair. You had asked Cecily what would happen if you turned down a gentleman’s request to dance and she had informed you that the British etiquette demanded you to turn down all of them if you turned down one, and you really wanted to dance with Anthony if he happened to show up, so there you were with a nearly full dance card.

At least there was a lot of time between the dances for everyone to catch their breath, so maybe he would show up so that you could put his name on your dance card before it was too late.

“How come you never attend any balls?” you asked Hugh after your dance with him when you both walked towards one of the huge windows after grabbing some refreshments and he smiled at you.

“It’s not exactly my type of entertainment,” he admitted. “I only came so that I could make sure that your brother does not cause any more pain in my sister’s heart.”

You shifted your weight, and heaved a deep sigh.

“I apologize for his behavior of late.”

“Please my lady, you should not.”

“I should though,” you insisted. “Lord Trenlove, you must believe me when I say that my brother cares for Cece deeply.”

He shot you a glance. “If he does, he has a strange way of showing it.”

“I’m working on it,” you said. “Trust me when I say that when I’m done, we are going to be family.”

That seemed to make him chuckle. “You sound very sure of yourself, my lady.”

“But I am,” you said with a smile. “I have a gift in matchmaking you see.”

“A gift in matchmaking?”

“Yes!” you said, excitement laced in your voice. “Back in Paris, I’ve made five couples fall in love. Well it wasn’t completely my doing, it was mostly fate of course, but I sort of…made haste for it to work, you see.”

“Then perhaps I should stay away from you,” he joked, making you let out a clear laugh.

“Are you scared of love, Lord Trenlove?”

“Absolutely,” he said. “And I am brave enough to admit it, unlike most in this ballroom.”

You gasped, still smiling. “Would I be right to assume that you try to stay away from it?”

“As much as I can. Love does have a way of ensnaring one by surprise after all, but I’d like to get myself ready for the battle when it decides to hit me.”

“Oh, love is a battle?”

“Indeed,” he grinned at you. “The worst kind of battle.”

“I see,” you said, trying to adapt a look of seriousness but you were sure it was clear on your face just how much fun you were having. “Well, how brave is it to actively try to stay away from it then?”

“Good question my lady. I’d say it is cautious behavior.”

You hummed, biting down a smile.

“Do you feel under constant threat of love?”

“Of course, that’s another reason why I do not attend any balls,” he pointed out as you giggled.

“Wise decision, I suppose.”

“I’m glad you agree—” Hugh stopped talking mid-sentence and his eyes found someone over your shoulder. “Good evening, Lord Bridgerton.”

You could swear your heart leaped to your throat as soon as you heard his name and you whirled around on your heels. He looked irresistible in his white shirt and black waistcoat, that intense light playing in his dark gaze.

“Lord Trenlove,” he nodded at him without even averting his gaze from you. “Lady Y/N.”

“Good evening Lord Bridgerton,” you nearly chirped, trying to keep the memories of last night at bay but it was impossible. Your heart was already pacing in your chest and you swallowed thickly, gazing up at him.

“Could I have a dance, my lady?” he asked and you took a deep breath, then looked down at the pencil and small dance card hanging from your wrist before you opened the card.

“Um—of course, but you will have to wait a little.”

Anthony raised his brows. “I’m sorry?”

“Well, I already—I already danced with Lord Trenlove, and my next dance is with Monsieur Allard and then with Mr. Sinclair you see,” you held up the card and Hugh chuckled.

“Should have got here earlier, Bridgerton.”

Oh Hugh was Cecily’s brother alright.

“Yes,” Anthony said as a shadow crossed his eyes before he forced a calm smile. “Yes, I can see that.”

“Well,” Hugh put his glass down. “I believe I should check on my other sisters. Since I unfortunately cannot ask you to dance again my lady, how about I reserve one for the next ball I attend?”

“That would require me to assume you will attend it though,” you pointed out and Hugh grinned.

“Who knows?” he said and bowed. “I wish you a good evening, Lady Y/N. Lord Bridgerton.”

Anthony didn’t even acknowledge that as Hugh walked away and your heartbeat sped up as you looked out of the window, rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet. To anyone who was watching, you were sure both of you seemed like you were enjoying the view of outside but to be completely honest, you couldn’t have been less interested in the scenery when he was right beside you.

“So I am to wait for two dances to get a dance with you?” Anthony’s voice was deep and you stole a look at him.

“Well I couldn’t reject anyone because Cece says once I reject someone, I have to reject everyone and I really wanted to dance with you,” you mumbled. “But you were nowhere to be seen, so I had to say yes.”

His jaw clenched as he kept silent.

“I’m not very happy about it either,” you said sulkily and his glances flitted over your face before he forced himself to return his gaze to the window.

“Get rid of that pout before I kiss it away in front of the whole ton, Y/N.”

A fire swept over your whole face, your heart beating in your ears as you took a huge sip of your drink as if that could help with just how hot you felt all of a sudden.

“Why were you late?” you asked softly after a beat and he heaved a sigh, shaking his head.

“Benedict,” he said as if it explained everything. “I thought artists were supposed to be inward and restful, and he seems to want to prove that thesis wrong all by himself.”

“Oh.”

“I wanted to be here earlier.”

“Did you?”

“Very much so,” he said and exhaled as he stole another look at you. “God, you look breathtaking.”

Butterflies fluttered at the pit of your stomach and you smiled brightly.

“Thank you,” you said, proud of yourself and Lucie for the dress. “And you look incredibly handsome.”

That seemed to have coaxed him out of his bad mood but only a little as you fidgeted with your dance card, unsure whether you should ask him or not.

“Um, will you dance with anyone?”

“You mean while you’re dancing with that insufferable pri—” he stopped himself as if he was taken aback by his own slip of control. “Please forgive me, I seem to have forgotten my manners in your presence.”

“Insufferable what?”

“Nothing appropriate for your ears.”

You thought for a moment, then pouted again.

“Y/N.”

“Sorry!” you said quickly. “I forgot—well, if you’re not going to dance with anyone, would you mind shaking Elias by his shoulders in some corner where the ton can’t see so that he can come to his senses? He barely spared any glance to Cece and everyone can tell, even her brother. It will break her heart even more I fear.”

“That’s what you were talking about with him?”

“With Lord Trenlove?” you asked. “Among other things, yes. I think you would like him, have you had a chance to talk to him before tonight? He is very nice and he has the best jokes.”

He raised his brows and turned to you but before he could say anything, you heard Pierre’s voice.

“Mademoiselle.”

You looked over your shoulder and turned around. “Monsieur Allard.”

“I believe you’ve promised this dance to me?”

“I have,” you said with a smile before meeting Anthony’s fiery gaze on you. “Lord Bridgerton.”

If it weren’t for the way his jaw had clenched, you wouldn’t have been able to tell he was annoyed by Pierre’s presence.

“My lady.”

You swept an expert curtsy before taking Pierre’s arm and walked with him to the dancefloor.

“I see that I have a rival in your affections mademoiselle,” Pierre said as you two started dancing and you looked up at him.

There was no way.

There was absolutely no way that Pierre or anyone could rival Anthony in your affections, not after last night. You could barely see anyone else, the fire burning your insides whenever Anthony was present was getting stronger and stronger by the second.

“But surely you do not expect me to believe I’m the mere recipient of your affections Monsieur Allard.”

“You wound me,” he said airily. “As if I could even think of such a thing.”

“Oh you can’t?”

“There is only one woman in this ballroom that holds my affections.”

This was supposed to be fun, but honestly this very dance felt as if it was stealing your precious time you could spend with Anthony. You frowned at yourself, it was disrespectful to even think that and smiled up at him.

“What about outside the ballroom?” you asked playfully and he curled his lips.

“Outside the ballroom?”

“Not everyone is here after all.”

“Everyone that I want to see is.”

It was almost automatic, this whole exchange.

“I bet when I visit France I will find a lady or two who’s still mourning after your departure,” you said, making him chuckle.

“Perhaps we go there together, mademoiselle,” he said. “I would be the only man who would be visiting Paris with a rival in its beauty.”

The implication wasn’t lost on you, and you let him hold you by the hand as you stepped back, then stepped forward.

“Do you miss it there?” you tried to steer the conversation to safer waters and it seemed to have worked.

“Every day,” he said. “Do you?”

“I do grow homesick I admit,” you said. “But I’ve recently found that England has its own…treasures as well.”

“I’m not very fond of the weather,” he said. “Yet again, I’m probably not very objective.”

“I suppose not,” you said. “What of the sights?”

Thankfully, Pierre was distracted by the opportunity to talk about the recent sights he had visited, so it gave you some peace until the music started fading. You were nearly restless, Anthony still hadn’t asked you for a dance and you weren’t sure if Elias would be distracted for the rest of the night, otherwise you were sure he would be watching you and Anthony like a hawk. You also had to get Cecily alone, but it looked like she was trying her hardest to keep herself busy and away from Elias.

You dropped a curtsy when the dance was over and Pierre kissed your hand.

“Thank you for your time, mademoiselle.”

“Thank you for the being a wonderful dance partner, monsieur Allard,” you said with a friendly smile and walked out of the dance floor, desperate for some water. You looked around the room but as soon as your eyes fell upon an unexpected sight, your brows furrowed.

Benedict seemed to be writing his name on Cecily’s dance card for the next dance.

You let out a breath and took a step towards Cecily but stopped when someone touched the small of your back, way too fast for anyone else to notice. Your head shot up and your protest died in your throat when you saw who it was.

“I told him to do it,” Anthony murmured, “Greenhouse, five minutes.”

With that, he was gone as soon as he came and you stood there in the middle of the crowd, confused beyond words.

Greenhouse, five minutes?

It was impossible because surely someone would’ve—

Oh.

Everyone who would have noticed your presence or lack thereof would be distracted, Anthony had just made sure of that. Elias would surely notice Benedict talking with Cecily no matter who he himself was with, and Cecily would be busy with him to even pay attention to where you were.

Excitement burst through you and your heart started beating in your throat before you made your way to the refreshments table again to grab a glass of water, then downed it and stole a look at the room. Anthony had already left as you expected, leaving you with a storm of thoughts.

It was a break between dances before the second part began, so surely it would give you longer time to be with Anthony but it was extremely dangerous.

And somehow, none of that mattered. It was worth the risk if you could only be alone with him again, kiss him again, be close to him again.

You placed your empty glass on the table before checking around you, then slowly made your way to the exit and walked out of the ballroom. As soon as you stepped outside, the cold air rushed over you and you rubbed at your arms, then gathered your skirts and started running towards the greenhouse, staying away from any light. When you got there blood was rushing in your ears, making them muffled but you heaved a shaky breath, then pushed at the door to step inside.

It was so gorgeous that for a moment you just stood there, blinking a couple of times. The moonlight coming through the glass roof showered the plants in silver, the vines surrounding the walls making a great contrast with the flowers all around you. You wandered into the greenhouse, brushing your fingertips over the soft petals of the flowers, completely hypnotized by the view but in a second, someone grabbed you by the waist and turned you around you sit you down on the counter, making you let out a high pitched squeal that turned into a giggle when you saw Anthony.

You beamed at him. “Well good evening to you too again, my lord.”

His gaze had a glimmer in it that you couldn’t quite decipher, something dark and dangerous perhaps. It managed to wake goosebumps on your arms, making you feel torn between getting closer to him and running away from him but all your thoughts disappeared as soon as he leaned in to brush his lips against yours. That familiar fire started at the pit of your stomach again, the fire that only he seemed to possess the control of, and you let it spread into your veins, desire pounding through you. You couldn’t help but to shiver, leaning closer to his touch as soon as he pulled back.

“Are you cold?” his voice was a low murmur as he took off his coat to drop it over your shoulders and you looked up at him nearly in a daze, trying your hardest to focus.

“No, not— not cold.” you stumbled over your words, hugging his coat around you, all your senses so full of him that it made your head spin. He tilted his head, his whole attention on you now.

“Is the room spinning again, my sweeting?” he asked as if he could read your mind and you scrunched up your nose, then buried your face to his chest which vibrated with his deep chuckle.

“I just…” you trailed off as you absentmindedly played with his ring, twisting it around his finger. “I feel too much I think.”

He buried his nose into the top of your hair and you pulled back to gaze up at him again, your brows slightly furrowed. Your heart was still beating in your throat and his fingers caressed the sensitive skin of your neck, then he pressed a chaste kiss on your lips, making you heave a sigh.

“You have no idea how you’ve been tormenting me ever since I walked into that ballroom, do you?” he asked softly and you blinked a couple of times.

“Torment you?” you asked back, confused. “But I would never.”

“No?”

“Never. The opposite, in fact.”

He raised his brows. “The opposite?”

“Well, I was—I was under the impression you see, that you would…” you fidgeted, fixing the skirts of your gown that honestly did not need fixing. “If I looked beautiful, that you would like it.”

He smiled, his eyes studying you as you sat completely still, surrounded by flowers and vines. Reaching out to push back one of the golden leaves dangling from your hair comb, his touch awakened sparks under your skin before he leaned in to kiss that very spot on your neck, making your eyes flutter close, your hand clutching at his arm.

Your whole body was on fire, it was so overwhelming that you could barely think of anything but him, anything but this moment right here.

You wanted it to last forever, the ball and the ton be damned.

“You are the most gorgeous vision I’ve ever set my eyes on and that’s the problem, I like it too much.” he murmured, nuzzling to the crook of your neck before the sound of musical instruments being tuned reached you, and he pulled back to check his pocket watch.

“Already?” you couldn’t help but whine and he chuckled, then tilted your chin up so that he could look at you better.

“What did I say about pouting, hm?” he asked, pecking you on the lips and you giggled, then slipped off the counter. He held you by the hand so that you could find your balance, and you handed him his coat and fixed your hair comb, the small dance card and pencil dangling from your wrist capturing his attention.

“I almost forgot,” he said and motioned at them. “May I?”

You slipped the thin band from your wrist so that you could hand your card and tiny pencil to him and he opened the card, skimming the list of names as he scoffed, then started writing his name right under Mr. Sinclair’s, for the last dance.

“Those lovesick fools can dance and hope all they want,” he growled, before he drew a line from his surname so that it would cross over other names. “You’re mine.”

Desire burst through you as he slipped the band back over your wrist and kissed your hand, then stepped closer to the door to check whether anyone was there but you reached out to tug at his sleeve, making him turn to look at you.

“Before we go back, I—I was wondering—” you stammered, your whole face tingling and you tried to will the words out but the embarrassment was way too much. You shifted your weight from one foot to other as Anthony looked at you, fondness clear in his eyes.

“Yes?”

You tried to swallow down the nervousness making your throat tighter and you shook your head as you lunged for the door but he was way faster than you. In a second, he had already blocked the door, his smile almost amused.

“None of that,” he said silkily. “Tell me what you were going to say.”

It most certainly was not appropriate for a lady. In fact, you were sure that your mother would be scandalized had she heard, but you found that Anthony’s mere presence was more than enough to make you forget every rule you were supposed to follow as a lady. So you decided to take the safer approach and stuck your nose in the air, trying to feign the confidence you most certainly did not possess at the moment.

“Will you kiss me again please?”

It would’ve probably been more convincing if your voice wasn’t shaky.

The simple sentence seemed to have awakened something in Anthony as a shadow crossed his already dark gaze, and you blinked up at him, a silence falling over you, washing away every ounce of bravery you so desperately clung to. Fear crashed down on you and you took a trembling breath.

“I apologize if it was vulgar—” you started but was cut off when Anthony grabbed you to push you back to the wall, his lips capturing yours in a bruising kiss. His arm sneaked around your waist to pull you up to him, your body completely pressed against his and that knocked the breath out of you, coaxing a whimper from your throat.  His hand went up to cradle your cheek and your lips parted in a gasp as his kiss deepened, making your heart slam against your ribcage painfully. You could feel yourself melting into his embrace when he pulled back to steal another kiss as if he couldn’t help himself.

“You my siren,” he murmured, nudging your nose with his, “are too tempting.”

“And you’re the one who torments me now,” you said with a giggle and pecked him on the lips, making him smile.

“I have half the mind to keep you here, damn the ton…” he muttered more to himself and you played with the collar of his shirt.

“I wish we could,” you admitted, then held up your dance card. “But I believe you owe me a dance, Lord Bridgerton.”

His smile widened and he stepped back, then cracked open the door to check outside.

“It’s clear,” he said. “Don’t linger outside, alright? I don’t want you to catch cold.”

You nodded and stood on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek, then went past him to run to the house. Your whole body was still shaking and it had nothing to do with the cold outside, and you let out a trembling breath before grabbing a glass of lemonade and downed it in one go. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Anthony enter the room as well and you averted your gaze to see Elias talking with Lady Miriam who was smiling at him, completely focused. You scoffed and made your way to Cecily who was talking with Benedict.

“Hey, where were you?” she asked and you licked your lips, then motioned at the ball room.

“Around,” you managed to say. “What did I miss?”

“We’re waiting for the next dance.” Benedict eyed you as if he knew where you had been, which you realized he probably had an inkling when his gaze wandered to Anthony. “Will you be dancing?”

“Yes, I will.”

“With?”

“Mr. Sinclair.”

“He’s been telling how you look like a beautiful nymph to anyone who’s listening,” Cecily said with a grimace. “Should be fun.”

Benedict chuckled. “I heard he is planning to write a poem.”

“Oh is he a poet?”

“Tragically no, does not seem to stop him,” he pointed out. “And is he to be your only partner? Ending the night with a poet does not sound that bad, as amateur as he is.”

“No, not really,” you said. “I…I will be dancing with Lord Bridgerton for the last one.”

Benedict’s smile was almost taunting in a warm hearted manner and he stole a look at Cecily who sipped her drink.

“There you go,” Cecily said. “At least he will not recite any poems. No offense Mr. Bridgerton, but I do not believe your brother could feel deeply enough for someone to come up with such a romantic gesture.”

Benedict tilted his head, biting down on his grin.

“And what is your opinion on that, Lady Y/N?”

“Oh I would not dare assume I could ever know about Lord Bridgerton’s feelings,” you played along and Cecily shrugged her shoulders.

“Well, we know that he’s not a romantic.”

You took a huge sip of your drink as Anthony walked into the ballroom, busy with putting his gloves back and his eyes searched through the crowd before catching the sight of you. A mischievous smirk pulled at his lips and he checked whether anyone was watching, then he winked at you, making you hold your breath and avert your gaze, painfully aware of the smile warming your face.

“Yes,” you managed to say. “Yes, I suppose we know that.”

Chapter 17